


[Better Man]

by disco_theque



Category: Pearl Jam, U2
Genre: Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13991718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disco_theque/pseuds/disco_theque
Summary: A bit of gratuitous smut to fill in my other fic of a similar title, Can't Find a Better Man - it's not necessary to read for this, truthfully, this is just a short mess, but if you want the ~story~, it helps.1992, Bono's point-of-view this time. What went on when he and Eddie disappeared from the after party.





	[Better Man]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zoolovelies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoolovelies/gifts).



> Happy birthday, zoolovelies, here's some smut!! 
> 
> I wanted to write this, Bono's perspective of the night he and Edge went to see Pearl Jam in Chicago, since I started writing that main work, and I've had this stewing in my mind since soooo here we are!

“You guys good? Do you need more beer?” Eddie asks, and it’s all I can do to steer my eyes from the dimples that take over his face and consider my reply. Behind me, Edge shifts his bottle around some, to eyeball how much he has left, and we hadn’t intended on drinking much tonight, we have an early flight, but Eddie signals someone over anyway, and like magic, a tray full of bottles appears on the table near us a moment later. 

I can’t help but eagerly reach for one, then settle back in against Edge, sighing contentedly when he works his fingers into my hair. We’re comfortable here, with Eddie, like this, and the beer fills me with a warmth I can’t ignore. We talk for a while, and the party swirls around us, and the next time I think to glance at the table, I’m surprised by how many empty bottles litter it. 

“Did we really drink this much?” I ask, not really a question, more a statement that comes out more seriously than I intended, and I can’t help but giggle at myself, and Eddie grins at me, and he can’t contain it, his grin turns into a low laugh that involves his entire body. His face is gentler, like this, I notice; when he’s onstage, he’s got a fury about him that sharpens his features, and the intensity is still there, now, but it’s warm, too, and I don’t know how long I gaze at him like this, but then Edge is moving behind me, slipping out from between me and the side of this dingy couch, asking about bathrooms. I don’t realize Eddie’s been matching my gaze until he looks away momentarily to point Edge in the right direction, and when his eyes return to mine, it’s a relief I didn’t know I needed. The movement of Edge leaving the couch sends me forward a few inches, and Eddie holds up an arm to support me and I can’t help but lean into it. 

“You doin’ alright?” he asks, and his voice is hot against my ear and it’s delicious. All I can do is laugh in reply and maybe I’m a little drunk, but I still have my wits about me, but then he lets his mouth linger by my throat and the moist heat is too much. After a moment, I pull back from him, just enough to meet his eyes again, they’re dark and intense and I’m sure mine are the same.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“You sure?” Eddie replies, and his voice is low and sweet and it takes everything in me to not kiss him right now. His eyes flick to my lips and back up, something that Edge does often because he knows it drives me mad, and I realize somewhere in my mind that Edge has been in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time, but then Eddie rests his hand high on my leg when he moves to stand up and the heat from it takes over my mind. 

“Damn sure.” I let him help me up and he keeps his hand on the small of my back as he steers us toward the door, but Stone spots us walking out and calls us over. I feel like a giddy teenager, too caught up in the thought of where the night is headed to form a reply, so I’m thankful Eddie mumbles something nondescript about moving the party to a nearby bar, and Stone is clearly too far gone to really require too much explanation, so we’re outside before anyone can think too hard about it.

The air is cold but it feels good and we just stop for a moment on the sidewalk, just a few steps down the block from the door, and breathe. After a minute, Eddie’s fingers begin playing with the back of my shirt, but before he can get his hand under it, I back him up against the nearest wall and he gasps. “So intense,” I murmur, leaning back a little to take in the way his eyes dart over my face, his breath picking up in speed as we study each other. We stay this way for what feels like an eternity, until his other hand works up into my hair, short fingernails scraping along my neck. In one motion, he spins us around so I’m against the wall, cradled in his arms so it doesn’t hurt, and I anticipate his kiss, so I’m surprised when he moves his lips back to my ear. 

“We can’t do this out here, Bono,” his voice is strained, a little frustrated, and I can tell he’s fighting a losing battle with himself for the way his body is pressing against mine.

“I have a hotel room,” I answer quickly, so quickly, maybe a little desperately.

He laughs at that, and rests his cheek against the wall next to my head, so I shift a little and turn so I’m facing him. Our noses brush together and I can’t take it anymore; I guide his chin with my hand and kiss him. It’s a simple kiss, not more than our lips involved, but his arms tighten around me and I know I have him. “Come here,” he says, and we stumble a little but make our way down a narrow alley until the glow from the streetlights is nothing more than a faint haze. I place kisses along his jaw and I’m confused when he removes his hands from me, but I notice he’s fumbling through his pockets, and I figure out what he’s doing when I hear the click and see the flame from his lighter. 

“Shotgun?” he asks, after taking a long drag and letting the smoke out with a pleased sound. I’m entranced by the way his lips curl around the joint, and before he can bring it back to his lips, I take his hand in mine.

“Hand it over,” I reply with a wicked smile, enjoying his surprised face when I take the joint from him. He licks his lips as he watches me smoke, and I can feel how wet they are when I crush our mouths together so I can exhale into his mouth. It’s sensation overload, already, and I clear my throat and laugh a little when we break apart. I take another drag before handing it back to him, then lean back against the wall and watch him smoke for a few minutes. His hair catches the dim light and he looks like a lion, and I think to tell him this, but before I can, he’s flush against me again, hips hard against mine, and he holds the joint to my lips. We finish it this way, probably too quickly, back and forth and sharing the smoke, and when the weed is gone, we kiss and kiss and kiss.

“‘M cold,” he manages around my tongue in his mouth, and it’s several more minutes before it hits me that I should reply, remind him of the hotel room. He works his way from my mouth to my collarbone, though, wet and sloppy, distracting me, then leaving me shuddering from the air hitting my slick skin. “You--” he pauses, laughs, a loud laugh that startles both of us, “Too.” 

“What?” I manage, laughing at his laughter even though I’m a few steps behind now, head reeling from it all. 

“I said,” he laughs again, places a smacking kiss on my cheek, “You too. U2!” 

“Chrissake,” I mutter, tugging at his hair playfully, savoring the hiss he lets out. “Let’s go.”

We make it to the hotel faster than I expect, with all our stopping to duck into doorways and shadowy spots along the way to kiss, hands growing bolder every time. Barely a block from the hotel, barely concealed by a building’s stoop, he slips a hand into my jeans, just teasing, and my groan echoes down the empty street. We manage to pull ourselves together enough for the walk into the hotel lobby, past the bored-looking night shift employees, and as soon as we round the corner, he pulls my shirt off. It’s not until we’re in the elevator and he’s kissing and biting my shoulders that I realize we must have left it on the lobby floor, but his tongue flicks over my nipple and I wholly forget about it. 

My room is right across from the elevator, so I walk him backwards to the door, savoring the feeling of being the one pressing against him. “We’re not doing this in the hallway, are we?” he asks, voice impossibly lower than usual.

“You’re the one who left my shirt in the lobby.”

He doesn’t have a reply for that, so I smirk and grind my hips against his, and his sharp gasp lifts into a moan. I get his shirt off, toss it well out of reach, and begin the maddening process of figuring out what pocket of my jeans my room key is in, complicated by my need to kiss every inch of his skin that’s now laid out in front of me. After a few moments, I find the key and we stumble into the room. The light’s on and there’s a glass on the table, and I realize Edge must already be asleep in the bedroom, so when the door slams behind us, I let out a panicked, “Shh!” but we dissolve into giggles over it all. I can’t help but be the host, no matter the setting, so once we’ve composed ourselves, I make my way to the mini bar. “Do you want a night cap?” 

“I wouldn’t say no,” he replies, settling onto the couch. I accidentally crash the whiskey bottle into the glasses, causing another round of giggles for both of us, but when I turn back to the couch and see Eddie sprawled on it, an arm draped over the back, the mood shifts. “Get over here.” He takes his glass from me and I join him, stretching my legs over his so we can sit facing each other, and he pulls me in closer to him. As we drink, I trail a finger down his chest, watching the way his muscles clench and react to my touch, until I reach his belt and he sighs my name. 

“Beautiful skin…” I murmur, the weed and alcohol settling in now that we’ve calmed down some, heightening my senses. I trace my finger back up, over his torso, neck, and his slightly-parted lips, then set my glass down, and rake my fingers through his hair. “Earlier, I was going to tell you,” I pause to really take in how his hair feels, soft and wild and thick, “You look like a lion.” It sounds so funny, so simple now, and I can’t help but laugh again, but it’s a darker laugh than just a few minutes earlier. He bites his lip, shy at the compliment and looks up at me through hooded eyes and it’s all the invitation I need. 

When I kiss him this time, it’s slow and deliberate, and after a moment, he cups my chin in his hands and gently moves us until I’m laying down on the couch. Feeling his body finally properly on top of mine is immediately too much, and I have to break our kiss to moan, until he recaptures my mouth with his and we writhe against each other. “Your mouth… damn…” he mutters when we stop to catch our breath again. I grab his ass and pull him harder against me, and our kisses grow frenzied, wet and open-mouthed and trailing onto each other’s faces and necks. 

After a few minutes, he sits upright, finishes his drink, and just looks down at me, chest rising and falling in rhythm with my own, and when he rolls his hips down against mine, I moan his name, and the grin that earns from him in response is downright sinful. He leans back down over me, holding himself up with his strong arms on either side of my head, and at this angle, our cocks grind together, and we buck against each other until I don’t think I can take any more. Eddie sits up again, and I slide out from under him, reaching for his belt buckle as I try to get us into a good position. We’ve turned clumsy with lust, but he manages to shove the coffee table away from the couch some, and I wind up straddling him after I get his belt undone and his pants and boxers shoved down, and when I grasp his cock, his eyes squeeze shut and he drops his head back against the couch. 

I stroke him gently for a bit, before leaning in to place kisses down his chest, and he eventually works his hands into my hair, gently guiding my head down. I glance up at him again before dropping to my knees between his legs, and he’s watching me now, down over the bridge of his nose, and when I take him in my mouth, he actually growls, and the sound sends a chill down my spine. The hold he has on my head tightens as I take him deeper, but he’s not forceful, just there, and I can feel his fingers tensing with every swipe of my tongue. I pull off when I can tell he’s close, and let us both catch our breath, and he moans when my panting breaths no doubt chill his spit-soaked cock. 

When I take him in my mouth again, his moans grow louder, and when I can feel him against the back of my throat, I move my tongue as much as I can along the underside, and he builds to a shout and comes almost immediately. After a moment, I sit back on my legs, and I can’t help but lick my lips, and he watches me intently, his thumbs moving in endless little patterns along my jawline. “Gonna make you come, too, you beautiful thing,” he says, in a voice so blissed out and gentle, I hardly recognize it as his own. He moves his hands under my shoulders and lifts me onto the couch with such little effort, and if I wasn’t so turned on, I would spend a decent amount of time marveling over how strong he is, but he holds me so I’m practically cradled in his arms, and he unbuttons my jeans, gets them out of the way, and I bury my face in his neck to stifle my groan. 

“Wanna hear you,” he tells me, moving me so I’m laying down across his lap, flat on my back. Like this, all I can do is gaze up at him as he touches me, and he’s not much bigger than me, really, but in this position I feel small, perfectly small, and it’s exhilarating. “You’re beautiful,” he tells me again, and I start to shake my head, play coy, but he licks his palm and grips my cock, just gently but it’s enough, and I surge up against his hand. 

“Harder,” I gasp, and he just smiles down at me and continues his gentle motions, so I groan again and repeat myself. “Harder. More.”

“Like this?” He tightens his grip, works his thumb over the head, and all I can do is nod, and he lets up, again. 

“Eddie…” It comes out on a whisper, and he moves his hand almost off of my cock, barely touching me, and I realize this is his game. “Tighter,” I tell him, louder, and he obliges, and I moan wordlessly as he falls into a rhythm, tight and slow, long twisting strokes. I can feel my orgasm building, deep and intense, down to my toes, and when I stretch out a leg to enhance the feeling, my entire body shudders with it, and he looks down at me with a quirked eyebrow.

“Too much?” He asks, clearly amused.

“More.”

“Hmm.” He slides his hand faster, and works his free hand around to my chest, and when he pinches my nipple, I come with a loud, low moan that goes on and on, and I feel like I won’t ever stop coming, and I’m only vaguely aware of his arms wrapping back around me, pulling me back up to sitting curled in his lap. He nudges my head up with his nose, then kisses my neck until my breathing calms down. “I should get back, the bus…” he trails off. I guide our mouths together again, and kissing him remains a thrill. “You’re a damn good time, Bono.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

He laughs and kisses me again, then grabs a napkin off the table to clean off his hand. “It’s a shame our tours are traveling in opposite directions.” 

“I don’t doubt we’ll cross paths again. Come on, I don’t want your band to leave without you.”

“I’m the--” his mouth turns up in a smile so sweet I have to kiss the corners of it, “--lead singer. I don’t think they can?”

My moving to stand up is wholly without grace, and he stands up quickly to support me, but his body feels too good against mine and I pull him tight against me. “Stay, then?” 

“Oh, that I could,” he murmurs. “Next time.” 

I help him buckle his belt between more sloppy kisses, and we must remember his shirt at the same time because he pulls back and regards me with a curious look when I laugh. “It’s in the hallway.” It’s so late, I’m sure no one else has been by, and sure enough, when we open the door, there’s his shirt, crumpled up on the floor by the elevator. I stay by the doorframe, but can’t help but let out a lewd whistle when he bends over to pick it up, and he turns back to me with a grin and it takes everything in me to not pull him back into the room. 

“Next time,” he promises again, and with that, he boards the elevator and I shut the door behind me with a giddy exhale. 

The night’s caught up with me, and I’m suddenly exhausted, so I pick up my now-watered-down drink from the table, finish it, and shuffle into the bedroom. My eyes aren’t adjusted to the dark, so I effectively fall onto the bed, but Edge doesn’t seem to stir. His breathing doesn’t sound regular enough to be from sleep, though, so I can’t help but ask, “Did I wake you?” My voice is scratchy and I hadn’t even realized, and I’m thankful we have another day off before our next show.

“What? Go to sleep, Bono.” He sounds vaguely annoyed, and it makes me cringe and sobers me immediately.

“Reg?”

“Yes, you woke me.” 

I don’t know how to ask exactly what part woke him, what he heard, and my brain desperately wants to shut off for a few hours, coming down from everything, so I roll over, pulling the blankets around myself and waiting for sleep to wash over me. “It didn’t mean anything,” I think, maybe I actually say it, I can’t quite tell and I’m too close to sleep to wait for his reply.


End file.
